


Market Bound

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Marketplace Series - Laura Antoniou
Genre: Bisexual Anakin, Consensual Slavery, Demisexual Anakin, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, It's a Marketplace AU, M/M, Past Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Real(ish) World AU, Slave Contracts, Slave Master Anakin, Slave Obi-Wan, Slave auctions, Submissive Obi-Wan Kenobi, That Means Explicit Erotica, fantasy kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-08-17 13:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16517705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Anakin is in the Market to find a slave. Obi-Wan, slave of the Marketplace, keeps seeking the right master. His prior masters Qui-Gon (who became both father and teacher) and Satine (who became lover and lifemate) are both dead.Anakin doesn't even know he is attempting to follow such tough acts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A miserable morning of waking up far too early turned into running for the chair to type like a crazy person. On the one hand, I can't believe I didn't think of this before, and on the other hand, only a sleep-deprived brain would have offered this up.
> 
> For those of you not familiar, the Marketplace series by Laura Antoniou is a series of kink erotica novels about a part of society that has agreed to standards surrounding consensual slavery set in the modern world.
> 
> I often try to put an element of truth in my kink stories, but this is going to be one of those times where it is complete fantasy. Just so you're forewarned.
> 
> Also to be warned: though there are contracts, if something is not specifically listed in the contract as a “no,” anything goes. The slave can be punished unfairly, can be commanded to mop the floor, be naked in front of company, sexually serve a guest whether the slave finds that guest attractive or not, and whether that guest is kind or cruel. The slave owner can choose whether to have sex with the slave or not, the slave has no choice in when or how or if. Slaves with higher status in the home might also use the new slave sexually, whether the new slave wants it or not. While a slave can cancel a contract, there are far-reaching life results from it, so of course they're far more likely to simply endure.
> 
> This AU's Anakin is not cruel or petty by nature, so the likelihood for him to do anything particularly awful is low, but I only know what's going to happen in the first two chapters. The brain sparkles have not invented more than that yet.
> 
> For those of you who still wish to continue...
> 
> Welcome to the Marketplace.

 

Anakin Skywalker was a slave owner with the Marketplace.

It wasn't something he could tell his closest friends, and certainly not his mother. Shmi would hate herself for it, would assume this was because of those hideous years overseas, in the hands of pirates.

And maybe it did, who could tell? Any given individual was certainly shaped by the circumstances they passed through, but Anakin found himself much more healthy— and happy— after acknowledging and embracing his kink than  _ before. _

Oh, he still hated what had been done to him and his mother, and he would never do that to another being, and some of his surplus money certainly went to organizations that helped rescue slaves from real-world slavery.

But yet, Anakin was here, for the third time, in the Marketplace, surrounded by naked beings kneeling on pedestals, their contracts on little pillars beside them.

A slave's price was predicated on skills that slave was fluent in, who their trainer had been, and how many years had been spent in the Marketplace. Most of that hefty sum, purchasing the slave for a period of a year, found its way into an account belonging to the slave, only accessible once the slave left the Marketplace for good.

Though some...

Simply never wanted to leave.

Anakin's first slave had been a woman named Ventress. He had chosen her because she could pass as a girlfriend, and because she hadn't seemed quite so intimidating price-wise— through really, Anakin could afford it, after the whole Engineering Thing that had launched him from a teenager without a highschool education into a millionaire— and could teach him varying levels of the school he hadn't had access to until late.

Ventress had usually been purchased as a governess figure for children of the home, and she had definitely been wondering what Anakin would do with her.

He hadn't been sexually attracted to her, so only when other owners visited did Asajj have a chance to get laid. She had never once complained, or pressed the matter of sleeping with him, because that was not acceptable behavior for a slave.

Though she had wanted him. Badly.

Even Anakin, who had tried not to notice,  _ had. _

When her contract was up, he did not renew it, and she had returned to an auction just like this, purchased by someone else, and carrying on with her life in the Marketplace, and Anakin sought out another woman, but this time, someone he would enjoy fripping.

Padmé had been open and soft, the way Ventress had been poised and dignified almost to the point of coldness. Padmé was all curves and had large, innocent brown eyes, and her contract listed her skills in accounting.

_ That would be something I need to learn,  _ Anakin had decided, and had chosen her for the year.

He had nearly renewed her contract when it came around, too.

Shmi believed the  _ girlfriend  _ statement again, and Anakin had been careful that his slaves always dressed in a normal way when friends or family came to visit. Padmé had been good at the game too, and it had almost felt  _ like  _ a permanent relationship.

Except...

Anakin was twenty-six, and did not feel himself ready to settle down long-term with a slave.

Oh, he could afford a second, of course, but he found he didn't really want to expand.

So he fripped her soundly, kissed those plush lips with hunger, and sent her back to the auction block.

He also knew the people who had purchased her, so for the next year, at least, she wouldn't be entirely out of reach.

He could visit, and she would be provided to entertain him for the night.

And that was that.

He had been somewhat looking for a slave with an engineering skill, because though Anakin was capable of working alone on that— as the zeros in his bank account behind the initial number attested— none of his friends and Shmi, certainly, had no idea what he was talking about when he enthused about the designs he so desperately loved to draw out.

Either an engineer, or someone skilled with old cars or fast cars.

Because if there was anything Anakin loved more than drawing new fast things, it was driving a fast thing.

He would like to be able to talk about his enthusiasms in depth with someone who could  _ understand  _ what he was talking about.

Yes, he had a shopping list.

Yes, it fell right on out of his head when he saw  _ him. _

Russet hair, beard and mustache, pubic hair of a similar, but somewhat darker shade, he knelt on his platform with his knees spread, hands behind his back, and head bowed.

He had muscles that Anakin had, through the Marketplace, come to recognize as being  _ hard work _ -created, not gym-crafted. They looked different, didn't bulge quite as much, but had beautiful lasting power when it came to difficult physical labor.

He didn't have a physique that screamed sex slave, Anakin  _ recognized  _ that, but also, the only thing his poor brain could offer up was  _ beautiful. _

Generous cock, even when flaccid, and it  _ was  _ quiet, though twenty minutes had already passed in the room.

_ Has no one inspected him? _

How could that  _ be _ ?

He had scars all over his body, just screaming that he had stories to tell, that he was a survivor. At least two were long-healed bullet wounds, another looked like mottling from shrapnel.

_ Was he in a war? _

Anakin walked closer.

Of course the slave did not look up.

Anakin opened the binder on its stand and whistled at the price connected to this man.

If... there was his name...  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi  _ ever left the Marketplace? He'd be ridiculously rich.

He'd also been in the Marketplace for a staggering seventeen years.

Anakin scanned the service record.

The first  _ ten  _ with the same master— a Qui-Gon Jinn. No reference was given, which was odd indeed— until Anakin saw the note explaining  _ deceased. _

Obi-Wan was released back into the Marketplace because his master had  _ died. _

_ Given they chose to spend a decade together... _

Had it hurt?

The next three years had been in the service of—

_ Wait, do they mean  _ Duchess  _ Kryze? _

Because how many Satine Kryzes were there in the world?

Anakin glanced back at the main room, reminded himself that from here he could see two actors he knew by face from their films.  _ Yeah, okay. Famous people. _

Anakin might have  _ money,  _ but most people had no idea who he was.

Which made it so much easier to keep slaves, so he hoped to keep it that way.

Obi-Wan had served Satine for three years, and once again— no comment.

Another note marking her as deceased.

Which...

Anakin knew about. It had been an ugly thing, too, that murder, dominating the news for weeks after.

The last four years had each been with someone different, and now here he was, forty-two years old— was he really in his early forties? He didn't look it, to Anakin— waiting for another buyer.

Those owners all had glowing things to say of him. One of his stellar sexual performance— Anakin glanced to him again, wondering— another of his canny with grapevines and his hard work in a California vineyard, and the third of...

_ He was a butler. Okay.  _ Serving drinks to people who were important because they had money because they had... fancy blood, because somewhere in the distant past, someone had been made nobility.

Anakin didn't get that shit, it sounded ridiculous.

_ Then again, I'm American. _

Most British customs sounded bonkers. Royalty, the most so.

It sort of all led to those ridiculous outfits standing outside that British Palace. The ones with the towering hats.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin spoke up. “Tell me why you're so expensive.”

“Yes, Sir. My trainer is Luminara Unduli.”

_ Oh... shit! _ The voice was smooth, quiet,  _ British. _

_ Note to self... maybe don't admit I think the royal guards look absurd instead of intimidating. _

“I have been in the Marketplace for seventeen years, with a clean record. I possess skills useful for several vocations. Those are the reasons, Sir.”  
_ Why am I lingering? _

The skillsets laid out were a decade training in being an “extraction specialist,” three in politics, one in fancy gardening, one in being a fancy waiter to a single family, and the last one in being a sex companion.  _ None  _ of those things were at all useful for Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin had suspected he might be bisexual for a long time, but he never really felt he'd had  _ proof.  _ He was demisexual as well, and had only felt sexual attraction to a couple of women in his life, and no men.

So far.

He also might or might not be aromantic, he hadn't figured that one out yet either. He wasn't entirely sure how to describe what he felt for Padmé, but he knew he felt it didn't match up with descriptions of being 'in love.'

Anakin stepped up behind the slave, ran his hand over some of the scars and down the strong back.

_ How would I explain this one to everybody? _

Boyfriend?

British servant?!

That last one might receive some ribbing, but Anakin  _ was  _ wealthy, now. It would be unlikely anyone would doubt his statement.

Anakin retreated to the side of the room, his hand shaking, just a bit.

Why did he feel so  _ nervous?  _ Like it was that first journey here, all over again? Like he hadn't felt like he  _ belonged  _ last time, when he found Padmé. 

Because he  _ had  _ felt right, then.

_ He's a good sixteen years older than me. _

True.

_ I've never owned a man before. _

Owning men and owning women were not very much different, from the master's side of things.

_ Is he open and ready to be fingered? _

Anakin felt himself blush, hotly, as if he hadn't slipped a finger into Padmé when he first inspected her, as if he hadn't made her lean forward so he could see her folds from behind. As if he hadn't handled her waist and her breasts and stared deep into her eyes, trying to gauge if her sweet docility was genuine.

_ What is happening to me? _ Why was  _ this  _ one different?

A man walked up, touched the underside of Obi-Wan's chin in cue to lift his face for viewing.

Still, the eyes remained lowered.

A murmured command, and beautiful blue-green eyes became visible as Obi-Wan looked up into the face of the master.

Anakin's stomach flipped over again.

A thumb stroked his chin, then moved down to settle over Obi-Wan's throat.

Obi-Wan did not move.

The hand snaked down, gripped Obi-Wan's length.

Anakin's eyes snapped from Obi-Wan's cock to the slave's face. He held still, his expression flickering just a bit before settling into calm again.

The man let go, squeezed his balls, and a click seemed to sound in Obi-Wan's throat, and a slight tremble could be seen in one powerful thigh.

Chuckling, the man moved around behind him, pressed on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, and the slave immediately responded, leaning forward, bracing himself, bowing his head, ass raised.

The man snapped his fingers at one of the scantily-clad slaves servicing the room, and she trotted over, arms filled with various impact tools.

He selected a short flogger, felt it with his hand, and then snapped it across Obi-Wan's ass.

A breath exhaled out of Obi-Wan, inaudible over the controlled murmur of the room, but Anakin nearly feared what even the sight of it would do to him.

_ I need to look at the other options. See if what I'm really looking for— _

Another crack.

Another silent gasp.

Fingers slipped into him, and his back curved in, his head snapping up, mouth open, hands gripping his place, revealing how achingly hard he was.

“Aren't you responsive,” chuckled the man, twisting his fingers.

Obi-Wan's head shuddered, another breath escaping him before his lips fell closed again, eyelashes sweeping his cheek, and his expression calming again.

“Not responsive enough. You've been here too long,” the man assessed, and then another slave was there, holding up a towel for him to wipe his fingers. “I'm looking for someone much sluttier.”

He sauntered off, and Obi-Wan for a moment remained how he was, before easing himself back to sit on his heels, head down, shoulders back, knees spread wide, fully erect cock on display.

Anakin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

_ Yeah. Just going to go see... engineers or car people... _

Except after making a full circuit of the room and realizing that those who might fit weren't at all interesting to him, he stood before Obi-Wan Kenobi's platform once again, wondering what in hell's name he would do with him, because he'd realized something.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was coming home with him.

 

* * *

 

It was less difficult, this time.

Honestly, the last four times he knelt on a block like this, Obi-Wan had looked up to his purchaser almost expecting to see Qui-Gon or Satine, in spite of every bone of him knowing it was impossible.

Still.

It was with a similar pang of hope for what could not be, and dread because it  _ would not  _ be, that Obi-Wan looked up when commanded, into the eyes of the man who had bought him.

He was beautiful, and looked young, but he didn't have the hesitancy or feigned bravado of a first-time owner.

He was flushed, though, all over his cheeks and forehead.

“Follow me.”

Obi-Wan was led through the throng, naked and bound, just as surely as if there had been a collar and lead.

Perhaps he should have just renewed his contract with Dooku, instead of taking his chances on the block again.

But...

As dearly as Obi-Wan felt for Ventress, Dooku's other slave, and much as Obi-Wan had enjoyed Dooku's caresses...

_ I'm still searching. _

Endlessly searching for Qui-Gon or Satine.

The vineyard had been hell, unexpected and brutal, backbreaking work beneath an unrelenting sun and an exacting taskmaster. It had allowed him to escape his own mind in the wake of his devastating losses, but it had also underscored how  _ empty  _ he felt with them gone.

What did this new master want from him?

Obi-Wan caught sight of Luminara, who sent him a warm glance of acknowledgment.

A tiny smile touched his face in return.

She had never handled him in a sexual way, for all of her physically bending him into various poses he had to learn, and sticking fingers in his ass, and measuring his balls.

Her hands had always possessed the clinical quality of a woman preparing livestock for breeding or sale.

In those early days of adjusting to what being a slave meant, that detachment had been much needed by a younger Obi-Wan Kenobi. He could see that  _ now,  _ though at the time, the dehumanization had stung.

_ It prepared me. _

If Obi-Wan hadn't found comfort in it, by the end of his training, he would have known to get out before he ever knelt for auction.

But here he was, so much later, with so much joy and heartbreak.

Maybe this time it would work out, and they would click.

Or maybe next year he would be back here again, kneeling for strangers to inspect.

 

* * *

 

The auctionhouse had provided a nightgown to cover Obi-Wan, so that the ride home would not be interrupted by a cop losing his shit because of a naked person in the car.

The first hour was silent, with Anakin not at all sure what to say.

The slave, of course, would not speak unless asked to— he was far too well trained for that rookie a mistake.

So Anakin kept his eyes on the road and debated what should be said.

“Have you... always been sexually used by your owners?” he finally asked, deciding to find out what expectations Obi-Wan might have.

Not that a slave's expectations had any meaning in the Marketplace. Expectations usually resulted in trouble, later on.

“No, Sir. My first master, the vineyard, and the posting after that were completely service-oriented.”

“Gardener and butler, sure. But what is an extraction specialist?”  
For a half-heartbeat there was silence.

Something another master would punish for, no doubt, but Anakin had always been quick to catch on to others' emotional states, and the pause had not been from defiance or reluctance, but from pain.

_ Still, it is not allowed. _

Anakin would ignore it, this once. Masters decided what topics would be discussed, not slaves.

“Master Qui-Gon would go alone into contested areas, to retrieve an object or a person, and conduct them safe out to a designated point. He apprenticed me. We would enter combat zones or gang lands, and escort people to or out.”

_ That explains all the scars. _

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No, Sir. It was terrifying, but I enjoyed  _ him,  _ and that was enough.”

_ Enough that he kept renewing his contract again and again, choosing to stay. _

“Did you fall in love with him?”  
“No, Sir.”

The sexual orientation of a slave didn't matter in the Marketplace. It was one of those things a slave waived the right to have mean something.

If Anakin wanted to sexually peruse this man, he had the right to do so, whether Obi-Wan Kenobi was sexually attracted to men or not.

And if Obi-Wan had thought it a massive sticking point, it would have been in the contract.

It hadn't been.

_ He is available to me. _

And it made Anakin feel strangely.

The rest of the hours home were silent as Anakin considered exactly what he would be doing for the next year.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warning: Anakin has Obi-Wan cross-dress. Obi-Wan doesn't mind, but Anakin does not ask him first.

 

Anakin guided his new slave to the room set aside  _ for _ slaves. It was small, had two good beds, a light to read by, a tiny cubby of an attached bathroom, and a laptop.

He specified when he wanted his breakfast ready in the morning, and what it should be, then asked if everything was satisfactory.

“Yes, Sir.”  
“Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

Anakin did  _ not  _ sleep well that night, and when he staggered downstairs in the morning, he felt rather wretched until his nose caught the scent of  _ good  _ coffee, and  _ food. _

Obi-Wan could cook  _ well _ ?

That was delightful. Ventress hadn't been able to cook worth shit, though she tried hard and spent countless hours trying to learn how to improve that particular skill for him. Anakin had always eaten what she made, just glad  _ he  _ hadn't had to make it.

And Padmé...

Less said about that, the better.

Two kitchen fires had been quite enough.

Obi-Wan was dressed in the robe from the night before, reminding Anakin...

“I need your measurements, so I can shop for you.”  
“Certainly, Master.” He proceeded to rattle off the important ones. Shoulder breadth, length of neck to ass, length of leg, width of waist, circumference of cock, length of cock, circumference of bicep and thigh at widest points, and  _ most  _ important of all, circumference of throat.

Anakin scribbled them down on a sticky note. Or, rather, he tried, ran out of room, and used four more sticky notes to manage it all. “Most of your clothes will be camouflage. My friends and mother are not part of the Marketplace, and they will believe you are my servant, hired to... make food and answer the door. You have my permission, and my command, to lie about your position accordingly.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He needed a cover story for the idea, wasn't sure yet just  _ what _ . “Once you've put the dishes in the washer, I want you to take to the internet and find some film that has a manservant or a butler that I can watch. I'll tell everyone I watched that film— which I will have, by then— and the whim seized me to have one of my own.”

A tiny smile touched Obi-Wan's face.

“Also, I want you to rid yourself of all hair except what's on top of your head.” Anakin's pulse pounded. He only really cared about the beard, but he wanted to see what Obi-Wan's reaction would be, trying to figure out if it was worth attempting... well...  _ to touch,  _ later...

“Yes, Sir.” He didn't once skip a beat.

_ Well. _

He didn't look  _ shocked  _ by the insinuation that Anakin might want to see him naked at some point later.

_ And... I rather like the thought of him in a collar. _

Only if it could be disguised as something else, though. In case of drop-in visitors.

For Marketplace events, or Marketplace friends coming over, Anakin could dress him— or  _ not—  _ however he pleased, and could have a much more clear symbol of submission...

_ A thick collar? _ Perhaps. Black leather could be both beautiful and powerful. He'd placed a black leather collar on Padmé. Ventress had worn just a simple chain, not hanging too far down her clavicle. It had looked like a necklace.

He could have Obi-Wan wear a simple chain, something that could be dismissed as a stylistic choice. Or a thin scarf wrapped around his throat. That one would draw questions in the summertime, of course... but gauzy frailty corralling skin was rather beautiful, in a sunbeams and fairy wonder sort of way.

But Anakin felt like something else. Something...  _ metal,  _ not silver, but warm. With perhaps a red stone inset, or... dripping, perhaps, from a short chain connected to the choker.

That would  _ definitely  _ lead to questions....

But still, it would clearly be jewelry. Perhaps unusual type, for a man, but the more Anakin mused on it, the more he liked it, that blatant symbol, for the whole world to see, just not recognizing it.

He'd heard other masters speak of butt plugs or anal beads in a similar way, or a thin dildo up a female slave's pussy.

Anakin's gaze strayed downwards as he nursed his cup of coffee, inspecting Obi-Wan's ass. Would he walk with such a graceful step if he had something in his ass?

_ I think... I want to find out... _

Turning away abruptly, Anakin proceeded to the table to focus on breakfast.

No. He did not sprinkle salt into his coffee instead of on his eggs.  _ What  _ are you talking about.

 

* * *

 

A dark olive t-shirt with sleeves that would caress Obi-Wan's biceps, cargo pants of a slightly paler shade for casual occasions... a suit and tie, in case Anakin needed to take him to formal settings, which  _ did  _ happen, and would be far more interesting with his slave along.... a couple of outfits meant for work cleaning around and in the house, and then Anakin settled in for some fun.

Yes, the choker, with a bloodlike drip of a stone that would nest in the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat. A black dress— it surprised Anakin, but when he saw it, he felt seized with a desire to see Obi-Wan in it. Shoulderless, with a corset-like top and a bead-scarf of glittering black, and long black gloves that would pass the elbows and nearly reach the globe of a shoulder.

_ I can't possibly... _

Well. Yes, he  _ could. _

And if Obi-Wan didn't like it, he could return to the auction once the contract was up.

Anakin also sought out a Marketplace craftswoman, who created more...  _ appropriate  _ slave attire.

A loincloth in black with a beaded waistband and a delicate silver chain that would nest in the ass, wrapping under to a cock ring. The woman had to call out one of her own slaves to demonstrate how it was put on a couple times before Anakin was willing to try, but he managed, and that  _ did  _ look impressive.

A bicep cuff, bicep sleeves with diamond cutouts to reveal the skin beneath, pants of the same design in shiny black leather, with diamond cutouts along the sides of the outside of the thighs, and one over his ass entrance.

“There are two options—one with a diamond cutout in front, with a little flap. Boy is flaccid, nothing to see. Hardens up? Comes out to be seen. The other option would be for just a regular front, no extra surprises.”

Anakin chose the regular, not entirely sure how he felt about having  _ all  _ his Marketplace clothing having Obi-Wan's cock visible.

It was a nice one, certainly. But Anakin had rarely put Ventress' or Padmé's lips on display, even though Padmé had a lovely little piercing down there.

Obi-Wan did  _ not  _ have piercings, and his contract stated no 'permanent' alterations could be made to his body. No surgery, piercings, tattoos, tongue splittings, etc.

_ I have three Marketplace outfits, I think I'll just start there. _

When he arrived home, he actually felt very excited about the situation. Enough so that he locked the door, drew the shades, turned on every light in the livingroom, and presented the dress, directing Obi-Wan to disrobe and don it. “Time for a clothes show!”

Eyes did widen, but only for half a second, and no sign of disapproval could be seen. The robe slipped from his shoulders, and there he stood utterly naked, his cock not at all responding to the sudden cool touch of the air.

_ Far too used to it for that. _

There was a laptop open, a movie queued—  _ ah, good, he found one— _ and all of his hair except for that atop his head, was gone. His face looked young, now, lying left and right about its age.

Anakin felt his heart patter faster at the sight of it.

For a moment Obi-Wan inspected the fastenings, figuring out how to climb into the garment. Anakin watched in fascination as Obi-Wan's cock began to stiffen, just a little.

_ Because he's intrigued by the dress? Because of embarrassment? Because I'm watching him? _

Anakin leaned back in his chair, knowing his face was on fire, and deciding not to let that stop him.

Obi-Wan stepped into the dress and drew it up. “Master, may I speak?”  
“Yes.”

“Corsets last longer, and break down less fast if they are fastened starting in the middle, then down and up from there.” He turned, holding the bodice up.

_ How do you know—? _ But Anakin moved forward, clasped the hasps in the middle, then worked his way up, and then came back to work his way down.

For a long moment he stood there, staring down Obi-Wan's shoulder, feeling just a bit dizzy with strange emotions and sensations.

_ This is new, something I did not know about myself. _

Letting out a small breath, Anakin returned to his chair and sprawled, knowing he was growing hard in his pants.

Obi-Wan turned, slow and graceful, clearly understanding this was a show.

He turned his head just a little to the side, allowing his neck to appear curved and graceful, his lashes lowered, his lips slightly parted, allowing the dress to move around and with him.

Anakin's breath caught in his throat.

Obi-Wan did not look feminine, but he certainly was  _ beautiful. _

_ Why  _ are  _ women the only ones allowed pretty things? _

Ridiculous rule.

Obi-Wan slipped on the gloves and fastened the scarf around his throat, letting it drape down his front.

He returned to his first pose, then after a long, slow moment, shifted, tilting his head back to expose his throat, a submissive gesture, his wrists turned to Anakin in a very open stance.

_ Oh. My. God. _

“Could—” Anakin's voice nearly failed him. He cleared his throat, continued. “Could you grow your hair out?”

“Yes, Sir,” Obi-Wan replied, voice as steady as ever.

_ Why do I get the feeling this isn't even the most unexpected thing a master has ever asked of him? _

Anakin swallowed, trying to avoid clearing his throat again, and gestured for Obi-Wan to try on the diamonds next.

Which Obi-Wan did, again with that casual lack of concern for his nudity.

He was property, and he liked being that.

And he liked being watched. It was filtering through his calm distance, showing in the sparkle of his eye and the slight curve of his mouth. He knew how to not impose his emotions on his owner, but...

They couldn't be entirely hidden away.

And his cock was mostly full now, and required some tucking into the pants, which sent a shiver down Obi-Wan's spine, and maybe Anakin's too.

_I_ am _going to screw him._ _How about that._

Yes. A cock sticking out  _ would  _ be garish.

_Though..._

Maybe he could figure out some sort of lingerie, for Obi-Wan. At least black stockings and garters and something over his torso, but _not_ covering his cock, and maybe something that drew attention down there. Something flashy. Something... like a bow. Or a ball cage. Or...

Obi-Wan's posture slumped from nobility to musician, and Anakin felt seized with a desire to provide him with mascara, eyeliner, and glitter.

Which made Anakin's south end even more excited.

_ Well aren't I learning all  _ sorts  _ of things about myself today?! _

Obi-Wan turned, leaned over to plant his hands on his knees, and then ground his hips in a circle.

_ He definitely has picked up where I intend this to go. _

Though to be honest, originally Anakin had  _ just  _ wanted to see how what he'd picked out looked.

Obi-Wan unzipped the front, back still to Anakin, and hooked his thumbs in the waist. For a moment he paused, then he bounced his hips from side to side as he slowly inched the pants down over his rear.

Anakin burst out laughing, but he didn't have the disgust of mockery. He just felt...  _ gleeful,  _ and excited, and this was all so  _ new,  _ and his slave was  _ stripteasing him. _

Obi-Wan flashed him a coy look over his shoulder, pleased mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Once ungarbed— except for the bicep sleeves— Obi-Wan sank to his knees with slow, muscle-controlled movement, reaching for the loincloth.

“Master, may I speak?” Obi-Wan turned and stood, holding the tiny scrap of cloth and its chains.

“Yes.” Anakin tried to sound firm, but may have just sounded heady instead.

“I am unfamiliar with how this would fasten.” Obi-Wan did look concerned. “I am sorry, Sir.”

“Hm. Well. What do you think you should do about it?”

“I could attempt it, trial and error, if that pleased you, Sir. Or I could research it. Or...” Hesitant eyes lifted to Anakin's face. “If it pleased you to help me, Sir?”  
“Yeah, I think I'm going to go with that last one.” Anakin stood and tried to swagger, but it didn't quite work, he looked a bit like a chicken with a broken leg. Obi-Wan never once broke his grave look, however.

_ I don't have to be forever dignified, I just need to be his owner. _ Take care of his physical wellbeing, see that he was fed and rested and worked and used in whatever way Anakin saw fit.

That's what Obi-Wan sought, when he entered the Marketplace.

And that's what Anakin had been looking for, when he entered as well, on the other side.

Obi-Wan stood calm, though the same could  _ not  _ be said of his cock, as Anakin slipped the chain down the cleft of Obi-Wan's ass, bent his cock to the side, and slipped the ring over the tip, sliding it all the way down.

A breath escaped Obi-Wan, sounding so  _ lovely— _

Anakin swished the silk down over the straining cock, and then settled his hands over Obi-Wan's hips from behind, leaning his head down to inhale deeply at the join of neck and shoulder.

Obi-Wan stood still, waiting to be used.

“I have never been with a man before,” Anakin spoke up.

Far better to admit to inexperience than to feign it, and have the far more experienced slave  _ see  _ through the bluff. Far more loss of respect could happen from the latter, than a frank acknowledgment of shit not yet learned.

“I don't think I want to start with a blowjob. What else could you pleasure me with?”

“H-hands,” Obi-Wan murmured in reply, voice just a little ragged, now, and Anakin felt a thrill of delight.  _ I did that.  _ “Or my arse, as you please, Sir.”

“How about I sit down again, you sit on my lap, and you do that thing I've heard say is done— our cocks together in your hands.”

A shiver, down that strong shoulder. “Yes, Sir. Permission to retrieve lubrication, Master?”

“Absolutely. Have you located it already?”

“Yes, Sir. Bathroom, bottom shelf. Behind the toilet cleaner.”

_ Aren't you proactive. _ “Go get it.” Anakin smacked Obi-Wan on the rear, startling the slave a half-step forward like a shying stallion.

Anakin threw the robe over the chair that would be most able to be cleaned up, and then shoved his pants down over his ass, just enough to make it work, and sat down.

Padmé had loved it when he was mostly clothed, and she stark naked, writhing on his cock.

_ I wonder what Obi-Wan likes. _

He rather meant to find out.

Obi-Wan returned, still in his loincloth, and settled over Anakin's knees, inching forward until their fully erect cocks nudged together. Anakin hissed at the spike of feeling, the way it shivered through the skin of his arms and the back of his neck.  
Obi-Wan warmed some of the goo in his hand, and then gently took Anakin in hand, and then himself, coating them both in slick, and then his hands began to work, gently squeezing the two together, and rubbing up at the same time.

Anakin choked out a noise and his hands clutched at the chair, seized by the pleasure trickling through him.

_ This is kind of amazing. _

He reached out, seized the back of Obi-Wan's head, and dragged his slave into a demanding, bruising kiss. Anakin nipped at his lip, his tongue, surged his own tongue in and lay claim to  _ everything  _ while Obi-Wan kissed him back, languorous and open, and his hands never once stilling, one sliding beneath to cup Anakin's balls, then back up to press them both with gentle strokes.  
“I— am going to have to— fuck you—” Anakin whispered, between ravishing kisses, “But later. Because we are  _ not  _ stopping this, it feels  _ too damn good. _ ”

A chuckle welled up out of Obi-Wan, warm and bell-like and it sounded kind and needful and  _ wonderful— _

And buying this man-slave might end up being the best crazy thing Anakin had ever done.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Anakin came first, eyes fluttering shut and air surging into his lungs.

Obi-Wan's hand immediately shifted away from his own cock, which twitched in dismay.

_ He won't allow himself to orgasm unless I give him permission. _

Though...

Once alone tonight...

A slave was allowed masturbation unless a master  _ forbade  _ it.

_I could make him wait._

Anakin stared into Obi-Wan's eyes and debated which to do.

Obi-Wan's cheeks were flushed with pleasure, his gaze averted, just a bit, but eyes still available to be seen.

“Oh, my god,” Anakin breathed out. “I have a sex slave.”

Obi-Wan's eyebrow twitched, just a little, and Anakin had the impression that if not reined in, it naturally would have shot up almost to his hairline. Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled with amusement, but his expression remained grave.

“I mean, Padmé was  _ basically  _ that, but I could convince myself I had her to teach me  _ accounting,  _ but there is  _ nothing about you that I can justify  _ except that I want to fuck you so much and very often.”  
Again, no reaction  _ above,  _ but the cock moved again, straining and so very ready.

“Do you like being a sex slave?” Anakin asked.

“Yes, Master,” those incredible lips replied. Anakin couldn't stop looking at them.

Anakin reached between them, took Obi-Wan's cock in his hand. Obi-Wan shuddered. “Does the thought of a year of being sexually available to me, whenever, however I want make you hard?”

A whimper escaped Obi-Wan's throat. “M-master, I'm about to come—”

“Did I say you could?”  
“No Sir.” Obi-Wan's voice broke entirely in his desperate attempt to control his body as Anakin slipped the ring off and kept stroking him.

The still expression shattered, his muscles trembling as he fought the pleasure, his distress and the difficulty of obeying increasing by leaps and bounds.

Anakin let go with one last swipe of his thumb, and a relieved, overwhelmed breath escaped Obi-Wan. He looked so close to the edge...

_ I wonder... _

“You either come from my voice alone, or you don't get to until I give you another chance, another day.” Anakin leaned back, smirking.

Fear and hunger alike lit in Obi-Wan's eyes, a fire that nearly swallowed Anakin whole.

“I'm going to keep you naked a lot. I have a pretty intense sex drive, and I'm used to having a slutty pussy aching for me to fill it even more than  _ I  _ wanted to.”

Oh, Obi-Wan was  _ shuddering. _

“You don't have a pussy, but you have an ass, and it will be  _ full  _ a  _ lot. _ You'll be mopping the floor, and I'll notice your ass needs to be filled, and I'll push you down against the table and fuck into you. You'll be showering, and I'll walk in, and make you take me there. I'll have other owners over, and I'll make you wear that dress and dance for us, and then make you watch me take another slave, a female slave, and you're going to wish it was one of your holes I was fucking, and when I'm done, you'll clean her juice off my cock with your tongue—”

Oh, he was  _ close. _

“I'll set you up in the center of the living room, naked, bound, on your knees, a dildo up your ass,  _ all evening long,  _ for the entire party, just there to be a mouth. Maybe I'll even put a ring gag on you, for my Marketplace friends. You'll go untouched, just  _ available. _ ”

A groan escaped Obi-Wan, his lips parting and his eyes rolling up as his eyelashes fluttered closed.

“You are  _ mine,  _ do you hear? And I will  _ use you  _ for my pleasure, and though your pleasure will mean nothing, you will enjoy every painful second. When you were a sex slave before, did your master share you?”

“No Sir,” Obi-Wan moaned.

“And what did he prefer?”

“To fuck me in the ass, no bells and whistles, Sir.”

“I'm going to give you to people you know, and people you don't know. I'll let other slaves have command over your body. I'll take you in another room and fuck you while I have friends outside the Marketplace over, without them  _ ever knowing  _ what you are, but you'll be fucked open so full—”

A low cry escaped him, and Obi-Wan came, his body jerking forward, nearly losing his balance. He planted a hand on the back of the chair to keep from falling on Anakin entirely.

It had their faces so close together, so Anakin kissed him, dry and quiet and long.

Obi-Wan looked dazed.

Anakin patted his ass. “Good boy. Now clean all of this and you up, I'm going to take a shower, and then we're going to watch the movie you found.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan removed himself from Anakin's lap, his muscles still shaking, his eyes murky with lingering pleasure and shock.

Anakin's shower was fairly quick. What took most of the time was standing, dripping and untoweled, hands planted on the sides of the sink, staring into the mirror, realizing that though he still couldn't really come up with a good reason  _ why  _ he should have Obi-Wan, he was  _ damn  _ glad  _ to  _ have him.

When he returned to the living room, there was no sign of sex anywhere, and the clothes were all gone too. Obi-Wan bustled back down the hall from the direction of his room— probably to put the clothes away— naked but clean. “How would you like me, Sir?”

“I'm liking the no clothes policy. Come here.” Obi-Wan did, and Anakin latched the gold and crimson choker around his throat with gentle fingers, and then settled them on the couch, Anakin's cuddling instinct fully kicking in as they began the film Obi-Wan had found to suit Anakin's lying needs.

Obi-Wan was warm, and loose, and adapted to cuddling the way he had to a fashion show and dirty talk during sex.

_ From what I've found, I could understand why someone might keep him for ten years. _

But that first master hadn't  _ used  _ him sexually.  _ And I can't imagine Obi-Wan's very first contract was set up specifying it was okay to take him into life-and-death bullets-flying hazard zones. That's not a normal contract piece. So what did that first master want Obi-Wan  _ for,  _ if it wasn't originally apprenticeship, and wasn't sex, and Obi-Wan was new and young and hadn't learned all the skills he picked up later? _

There was just  _ one  _ skill that his listed postings hadn't logically tied to where he'd picked it up.

Even though he was enjoying a movie with his new slave pulled close, Anakin felt a slight shadow. He hadn't been sure what the word of the skill meant exactly, but... if his guess was right... it had something to do with companionship to the dying.

_Was his first master fatally ill?_ _Was Obi-Wan just needed to be a_ friend _?_

The thought made Anakin's heart ache just a little in sympathy, and he squeezed Obi-Wan tighter.

He hoped that master had found himself not lonely by the end.

_ Very few people deserve to die alone. _

 

* * *  
  


When dismissed for the night— after the film, which Master Skywalker had confidently proclaimed to be just the perfect lie to tell his people— Obi-Wan lay, still naked, on his new bed and stared up at the ceiling.

This master was  _ different. _ Dooku's pride had been very important to him, he had always put forward as put-together a face as he could manage. The vineyard didn't give a shit about  _ looks,  _ just the fucking grapes. The other two places hadn't been any more  _ special  _ than  _ those  _ two, and...

Anakin trying to be suave, and instead being ridiculous, and  _ knowing  _ he looked ridiculous, given the scarlet of his face, but not letting it stop him from enjoying life?

_ He is not Qui-Gon.  _ Who had been tired and worn, and so sad, and had hard-earned his grace of movement and speech.  _ And he is not Satine,  _ who had been nobility to her  _ bones,  _ and was also the most fearless, decent person Obi-Wan had ever known.

He sighed, as he felt again that terrible ache of a broken heart.

He would have been content to remain by the side of his partner or his love forever...

But forever was just a word meaning a long season.

_ And my seasons with them have closed. _

Still.

It was a very cold winter in Obi-Wan's heart, and it was stretching long and sad.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was absolutely put together, when Anakin's Mom came to visit. Not a glance, not a word out of place; he conversed with her at ease and poised. Anakin had the shocking realization that, without the Marketplace, he would likely have been too intimidated by Obi-Wan's knowledge, grace, and  _ put-togetherness  _ to ever actually speak to him.

_ He is... ten times smarter than me. He's got all the people skills. _

How could a man who loved being on his knees still manage to carry on the illusion of normalcy, of equality, with a gentle and interested charm towards Anakin's Mom?

Shmi was  _ definitely  _ starting to like him, and she kept sending Anakin little  _ significant  _ looks when Obi-Wan wasn't looking.

When Obi-Wan left them for a brief time, Shmi leaned over to her son and whispered, “Sweetheart, remember it's different here. You don't have to call him a 'manservant.' We'll understand.”

“But he  _ is— _ ” But she was  _ looking  _ at him and his face was turning scarlet.

She nodded. “To justify living together so quickly, I understand. Play whatever mind games you have to, Ani. But does he make you happy?”

“Yes.” That, at least, was an easy one. Though it had only been four days.

“That's all I need. He's a very delightful young man.”

_ Young... right. _

“Thanks, Mom.”

Anakin didn't know  _ how  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi had become such a stellar liar, but he thanked all his stars it was so.

_ Clever and smart and submissive and  _ mine...

Happy indeed.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan looked forward to seeing if Anakin would follow through on his statements? Promises? Threats? Whatever they had been.

It turned out Anakin was  _ not  _ kidding about the nakedness thing. Obi-Wan had not gone this bare for this long a time since  _ training,  _ and that had been seventeen years ago.

He almost expected Luminara to step in from the next room, to nudge his posture, to speak words that seemed to strip him down to bone, until a single, understated word of praise made his entire being thrill.

But no, there was only Anakin. But there was a lot  _ of  _ Anakin.

So much Anakin.

Everything he did, he infused enthusiasm into it. Scribbling designs onto graph paper braced on the table, on the floor, on the couch, on the patio, anywhere the ideas struck him. He ate with enthusiasm, wanted Obi-Wan to partake in whatever entertainment he binged at the time— Obi-Wan had never expected to watch a single episode of Arrow, and now he'd seen all of them— and he had not been joking about his sex drive.

If the woman who had lived with Anakin before had possessed an even  _ greater  _ one?

Obi-Wan doffed his purely invisible hat to her in respect, amazement, and a little bit of concern for his own well-being, should she ever enter this house and have higher authority than Obi-Wan himself did.

Obi-Wan was used to the concept of visiting owners either requesting his services, or simply accepting them, his body something to be offered and borrowed and traded and used as currency, gesture of hospitality, or any other number of tokens.

And though Anakin used him more often than Obi-Wan could possibly come, at this point in his life, he  _ did  _ look forward to the day Anakin's Marketplace friends would put in an appearance.

It did not take long.

Three weeks into the contract, Anakin Skywalker threw a party for select Marketplace friends only.

Five owners, four guest slaves.

Obi-Wan found himself bound and kneeling in the livingroom, with the ring gag as promised, and he watched as Anakin sent two of the guest slaves to take care of dinner, drinks, keeping the lights sparkling and the music crooning.

The other two slaves were ordered to strip.

Anakin had his hands all over the woman, fingers slipping into her, and Obi-Wan watched as her head tipped back, lips parting with a pleased breath.

“God, you're wet for me,” Anakin mumbled, before unzipping his jeans and hoisting her up to impale her on his length.

Obi-Wan held very still and watched.

She was pretty, Obi-Wan supposed. Not in the way the austere Satine had been, but...

No one was Satine.

This woman certainly loved Anakin's cock, delighting in it with an enthusiasm that could not all be feigned.

Anakin's friends lounged, a couple watching the fucking, the others chatting amicably, as if nothing unusual were happening.

Obi-Wan felt himself harden, partially from the tingle of curiosity of what would happen to him through the course of the evening. There was a magic in it, in absolutely not knowing, in watching the five guests out of the corner of his eye, and the naked male slave who stared at Obi-Wan with barely concealed hunger.

He could even be sent to entertain someone through the night, if Anakin decided to keep the woman to himself—

He finished into her with a groan, then let her feet slide back to the floor again.

Obi-Wan watched the come stringing out of her pussy.

“Padmé,” her owner directed, “make Alexsandr loose.”

She approached the other slave, and within the span of a heartbeat, they were fucking on the floor, keeping mostly quiet so their masters could talk.

Obi-Wan felt the drool threatening to escape the confines of the ring gag. Some of that was the gag's making, some if it might have been from the fervent sex.

He might not have  _ often  _ been used this way, but his body understood implications fairly well.

Of course, he  _ might  _ be left untouched the whole evening through.

A thrill of disappointment echoed through him at the thought.

This was a house of sex.

He intended to enjoy as much of it as he could.

 

* * *

 

Anakin, of course, knew ahead of time what had been planned for Padmé.

It had been difficult to keep that surprise to himself, but it turned out to be well worth it when he saw Obi-Wan's face.

She had Anakin's come and the come of a slave oozing out of her, and she was all but vibrating with her own desire for orgasm, when her master gave her permission to ride Obi-Wan's face.

She eagerly moved Obi-Wan from kneeling to lying flat on his back, and then she rutted against his mouth as his tongue tried to please her and come sagged into his propped-open mouth and Anakin found it near impossible to drag his gaze away.

That was one thing Anakin really liked about the Marketplace.

If there were two beautiful people you knew that you wanted to see fuck, you might actually have a chance of it, here.

Padmé used him ruthlessly, and then finished, and Obi-Wan's cock bobbed in pained, sad neglect, and then Padmé moved to kneel beside Anakin's feet, where he could rest his hand on her hair, toying his fingers through the tangled brown locks.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's face was a mess, and there was nothing he could do about it.

More than one set of gazes raked him now, either desirous or curious or just measuring.

“Can I put something in him?” one of the owners asked. “He's not even holding a butt plug.”

Anakin shrugged. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“A nice, big dildo. Lots of weird shit. You got one with a knot?”

Anakin nodded. “Obi-Wan, go fetch the Bad Dragon with the ridges and knot. They all have cute names, I can't for the life of me remember the names.”

Obi-Wan could, but his mouth was rather full.

He also wasn't sure how to carry out the command with his hands bound behind his back and his feet hobbled.

It took a bit to balance himself up to standing, and then he took the tiniest of shuffles, moving himself inch by painful inch across the floor.

Some laughter followed him, some mockery of the way his ass looked.

The stairs proved something of a challenge, as Obi-Wan sat on each one, before pressing himself up using hands and feet, then resting his butt on the next step up.

He made it all the way to the top, and to the toy bin, which he had to tip over to have them all spill out, and then, crouched uncomfortably, he picked up each of the toys that were  _ not  _ the right one and returned them to the bin, until his thighs burned and he had  _ the one. _

Carrying it to the stairs was simple, keeping it behind his back, but he would  _ need  _ his hands to bump his butt back all the way down, if he didn't want having a stair-spanked ass impaled once he reached the livingroom.

It was tricky to lay the toy down on the ground with its base against the wall, and then scoop his cheek along the carpet until it slipped into the ring gag.

Stranger still to tip his head back to keep gravity in his favor as he scooted his ass to the top of the stair, his feet bracing lower down and his hands assisting a bit as he thumped his ass from the top step to the next.

Oh,  _ god,  _ it was going to be red and sore by the end  _ anyway. _

At the base, he transferred the saliva-glistening Bad Dragon back to his bound hands, and then waddled back on in to the livingroom.

It had taken him over twenty minutes.

Padmé lay on her back on the rug, curled and eyelashes drooped, before slowly sliding into yet another seductive pose, somewhat flushed in areas where she had been heavily stroked or kneaded.

So much flesh to press fingers so deeply into...

“Stretch him all out, Padmé,” the guest who'd requested the toy directed.

Padmé bounded up from the floor and on up the stairs, clearing them with so little effort and time, and then returning with the lube bottle.

_ She knows her way around this place well. _   
She was thorough in preparing him, but not particularly gentle, and then she deemed him stretched enough.

“Fuck him with the toy,” her owner commanded.

With his hands behind his back, he could not hold the kneeling, bent-over position long. His cheek smacked into the carpet, his knees spread, as the slave woman stabbed the dildo in again and again, the uneven surface of the toy catching at his rim and overwhelming him with sensation.

He knew he was drooling helplessly into the carpet, found that rather uncivilized, but the masters were clearly loving it.

Padmé drew it out a bit, using him hard and long before she slammed it in  _ deeper,  _ shoving the knot fully into him. He gasped aloud at the sensation, gulping in air, his ass convulsing instinctively over the toy, locking it in, holding on to it as Padmé wiggled it back and forth, just a bit.

It was so  _ much,  _ so  _ intense... _

_ Can I endure it being pulled out again? _

Her fingers adjusted, pressing in a bit to seize it well enough to wrench it out of him.

Obi-Wan tried to relax his rim...

Out it came, choking a noise from his throat as he felt so split  _ open,  _ so  _ gaping,  _ and yet the convulsing quivers of his hole, clenching, clenching—

Padmé drove it into him again, and a cry ripped from his lungs as he felt the knot press close again, a threat not yet carried out.

_ Holy— will she—  _ again _?! _

Sure enough.

Again.

He slid forward a bit, and then a bit more, and then his open mouth was pressed to the toe of Anakin's boot.

The foot disappeared, and then returned, bare toes wiggling, brushing at his nose, his chin, and then popping the big toe in his mouth as the knot slammed home again and Obi-Wan convulsed with pleasure and overwhelmed distress alike, his tongue pressing and flaring against Anakin's toe.

“Shit, that tickles,” Anakin protested, yanking his foot away. It earned him delighted laughter from his friends, but Obi-Wan could barely process that at all.

Just the woman, gleefully destroying him before a roomful of men.

Just Anakin, watching him with hungry eyes.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: One of Anakin's Marketplace buddies will ask Obi-Wan where he got a bullet scar from, and what it was like, getting shot. Obi-Wan will tell that story and express how it felt. It starts at the end of the first section and continues through the second section. Starting at the second set of asterisks (beginning of section three) Obi-Wan remembers briefly Qui-Gon's death, and then settles in to contemplate Anakin.
> 
> Also: Some talk of past terminal illness in a child
> 
> Translation: Anakin starts to learn who Obi-Wan is. Obi-Wan's backstory is pain and angst.

 

Padmé was told to clean him up― still in the livingroom― and get him so he could talk.

Obi-Wan watched her face as she undid the ring gag, recognized the mild disinterest he'd occasionally expressed himself while undertaking a task that was not found distasteful, but not particularly delightful either.

He gasped a little as his jaw was freed, allowing him to close his aching mouth.

After a moment his hands were free too, and he was able to wipe some of the mess of saliva from his chin.

Other than that, he just managed to lie there, exhausted and sore, somewhat curled as Padmé left to get baby wipes and a glass of water.

The masters watched with half an eye as Padmé started with Obi-Wan's face, helping him sit just long enough to drink, then helping him lie down again, and then wiping his cheeks, chin, throat.

Obi-Wan submitted to her hands and to the eyes lazily scanning him as he simply breathed, trying to nurse his mouth and throat. _They want me to be able to talk about something._

He hadn't actually come, his cock still full and sad.

“Are you regretting buying a man this time?” one of the friends asked. “I know you hadn't planned for it.”

Obi-Wan's gaze did not track up to Anakin's face, he knew better than that, but he did strain his ears to catch every nuance of the voice.

“Planning isn't everything, you know.” Anakin shifted on the couch, the creak of leather giving him away. “I like him so far.”

“Yeah?” Padmé's owner returned, not sounding convinced. “You seemed pretty hungry when I brought Padmé in. Sure you're getting fed enough?”

Obi-Wan felt the furrow trying to form in his brow. He was not entirely sure what he had been purchased for, but if it was to be a pleasure slave and house caretaker, he did not want to be failing spectacularly in those roles―

“It's Padmé. Can't help but fuck her. He's not hungry like she is―”

The words his master was speaking seemed quite a bit more important than the hand impersonally cleaning his cock, balls, and ass.

“―but he's pretty.”

“If you can get past all the scarring. Padmé, can he talk yet?”

“ Y es, sir,”she asserted. A risk, because if it proved Obi-Wan  _could not..._

Her master could punish her for making an inaccurate claim.

“The bullet hole in your neck. How did you get it?”

An involuntary shiver ran through Obi-Wan, but it most certainly was not of pleasure.

 

* * *

 

Anakin noticed the tension in the face, recognized it from the car.

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not want to obey.

He did not hesitate this time, though. He spoke, clear, and without audible sign of resentment.

_There is a reason why Unduli is considered one of the best._

She turned out  _good_ slaves.

“My first master took a job in Somalia. I accompanied him, as was customary. We nearly lost the objective, but we succeeded in getting her out.”

“Who was your client, if you're not bound by NDA?”

It was a good question, Anakin rather wished he'd thought of it himself.

“Then-Duke Kryze, on behalf of his daughter.”

"O h, shit!" Anakin crowed as he recognized the link. "And then she  _bought_ you later."  
A terrible grief entered the blue-green eyes, and they snapped tight shut.

“Did it hurt?” Anakin vaguely heard the question being asked, but he was too busy wondering just how important Satine Kryze had been to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It looked like the answer might be tremendously.

Those eyes opened again, and their calm had returned, if a little distant. The voice still rasped a bit, aftermath of the gag. “Yes, Sir. I didn't hear anything. All was quiet and still. And then it felt like something punched me in the neck. I fell backwards, I couldn't breathe. It was confusing, during the fall. When I hit the ground, I heard gunfire, I felt blood, warm and...” he swallowed. Audibly. “And then the pain. It felt like I'd been stabbed, with a red-hot iron. I thought I was going to drown in my own blood.”

Anakin's  skin had chilled, and he could see his friends had frozen too.

Ferus stared at Obi-Wan, wide-eyed. Kitster looked uncomfortable. Tru's face twisted to the point where he looked pensive.

Anakin couldn't be the only one wondering how Qui-Gon Jinn had earned the listing of Deceased, but...

As the painful silence continued, it became clear that none of them were about to ask.

“You can go to the kitchen, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured, feeling an ache in his heart. “Rest for a bit.”

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan stood stiffly to his feet, wobbled a bit, and then walked slowly to obey.

Padmé had a pensive expression on her face as she watched him go.

"Damn," Ferus murmured as Anakin's slave passed out of earshot. "He went through  _hell._ Being a fuckhole  _and_ fearing for his life? Seems like if he's supposed to just be sexually available, he should at least be able to know that he will physically be taken care of."

Anakin felt that odd ache again. “Jinn didn't use him sexually. The first two years, he was there for... something, and then he changed his contract to allow him to accompany Jinn on his work trips.”

"Unduli  _allowed_ that?" Tru asked, baffled.

Kitster's expression turned thoughtful. “She must have felt he understood the risks and wanted to be with Jinn anyway. To run into danger by his side. And he didn't leave the year after, or any of the years following.”

“A decade,” Anakin confirmed, feeling quiet, subdued.

“Maybe it wasn't a sexual or romantic love, but I'd call that love,” Tru asserted.

Ferus frowned. "What I don't get is, if he wasn't  _meant_ to be Jinn's apprentice originally... what  _was_ he bought for?"

_That is something I would really like to know too._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan stood before the sink, staring out the window at the orange tree.

“You alright?” one of the other slaves asked.

Obi-Wan stirred, sent him a glance that didn't even manage to discover what the other looked like. “Oh. Yes. It was intense, not harmful.”

“He means them making you talk about the scars,” the other clarified.

“I am accustomed to being asked about them. When Master Jinn and I would return, Marketplace people would notice the new marks, want to know the stories of them.”

The massive man standing beside him, a warm, solid presence. A kind man, a brave man, clever and gentle and lethal and―

_Master._

Qui-Gon's blood on Obi-Wan's hands, on Qui-Gon's skin, blue eyes glazing with pain as Obi-Wan begged him to stay.

And the soft giggle of a laugh. Not Qui-Gon's, not Obi-Wan's...

The past held vast amounts of pain.

The paths of bullet wounds paled in comparison.

_I still live. And Master Anakin is..._

Sweet. Sometimes positively adorable. Distracted and brilliant, and the realization of his own wealth hadn't sunk in deep enough to turn him snobby. There was a delighted sense of discovery about Anakin, curiosity and exploration and a shrugging resignation concerning his own not-quite-debonair self.

A tiny smile brushed Obi-Wan's lips.

And Shmi Skywalker was a lovely woman, you could  _see_ the kindness in her eyes, the gentleness around her mouth, and how much love there was between mother and son.

There were lines of suffering in her face, too, but it was clear that pain had not turned her cruel.

_I am not sorry to be here._

He turned from the window, knowing his expression was more quiet, less pained now. “How can I help?”

 

* * *

 

Anakin had intended to keep Padmé through the night, and leave Obi-Wan to the tender mercies of the slaves in the slave room, but...

He couldn't stop thinking about the silver scar on Obi-Wan's neck.

So instead, Anakin sent Padmé away, and brought Obi-Wan to bed with him.

With the door closed and the house dark and quiet, Anakin directed Obi-Wan into nakedness and the bed.

In his blue pajamas with tiny yellow cars all over them, Anakin crawled into bed beside him.

Anakin cuddled up against Obi-Wan's back, tracing his fingers in the dark over Obi-Wan's side and hip and thigh, feeling the variation in skin between muscle and scar tissue in so many places.

“Your life... is not usual, within the Marketplace,” Anakin murmured. “It's really rare for a slave to be expected to risk their life. Why would you agree to that contract? For so long?”

For an extended moment, Obi-Wan remained silent. Then, he whispered in reply, “Permission to consider your question, Sir?”  
“Yeah.”

Obi-Wan fell silent and still again, Anakin stroking bare skin.

It took a long while before Obi-Wan fully answered.

"There was a bond between us. My first two years with Qui-Gon Jinn forged a connection. After that, he was rarely ever home, in frequent danger. If I wanted remain by his side, I had to enter that danger too. And I would have done anything to stay by his side."  
"If you didn't fall in love with him or he with you, what could possibly have happened in those first two years to inspire such... _loyalty_ in you?"  
"He bought me to care for someone who was very ill, who did not have long to live. My purpose was to make her final months as... joyful as they could be, and Master Qui-Gon took a break from work, to watch over her. I did most of the heavy lifting, so that he could focus on surrounding her with tenderness and love."

“His wife?” Anakin guessed, voice soft.

“His daughter,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice turning tremulous. “Eight years old.”

“Oh my god.” Anakin felt like the air had been kicked out of his lungs. “God.”

“She was amazing,” Obi-Wan choked.

Anakin could hear the tears in his voice, and reached his arm around Obi-Wan's middle to pull him back tight against Anakin's chest.

Anakin pressed a kiss to the back of Obi-Wan's neck. "I'm sorry."  
"There was... a  _fullness_ in her life. A joy. She knew she didn't have long, but she adored her father, and she held such  _capacity_ for love and kindness. I did what I could to ease her time. She loved having me there, ready to serve her smallest whim. Another child given that power might have been insufferable. She was radiant. And when she was gone..." For a long moment Obi-Wan could not continue.

_And if he chooses to stop, I won't make him keep going. It's too much pain he's had to endure._

“I'd only known her a little over a year, but losing her... it was the cruelest thing I'd experienced up to then. I stayed with Qui-Gon until the rest of my months were up. I took care of the house, I made sure he ate, and... and we grieved. At the end, I did not want to be parted from him. Perhaps it is no surprise we bonded so deeply, with a loss like that.”

“I'm sorry,” Anakin murmured again.

“She was beautiful and gentle, and he was quiet, so very competent, and kind.”

Anakin made a rash decision, despite his nature-born curiosity that would likely return in the future. "I won't make you talk about them in the future, if you don't want to. If you want to talk about them, I'll listen, but I won't  _make_ you do it because I'm curious."

A choked breath escaped Obi-Wan.

Silence stretched so long that Anakin thought Obi-Wan would not say another word that night.

Then, right as Anakin drifted on the edge of slumber, he heard a whispered, “Thank you, Master.”  
Anakin just squeezed him in return and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Tears slipped silent and burning down to wet the pillow.

Obi-Wan had given his new master more information than the man had insisted upon. It would have been permissible to only give up what he was directly asked, but...

In the dark, with Anakin Skywalker's arm holding him tight, Obi-Wan had  _wanted_ to remember.

There was an empathy to Anakin that felt...

It felt safe.

Still, the memories, while cherished,  _hurt._ If Obi-Wan had felt they were merely objects of curiosity to the new master, he would have guarded them more jealously.

Much as it hurt to speak of them, even in these broad strokes...

It felt...

A bit cleansing, in this place, with this man. Similar to Qui-Gon cleaning out a wound that would leave Obi-Wan's eyes watering in pain.

Time would tell if that moment of vulnerability with Anakin Skywalker would be something to be regretted later, but for now...

Obi-Wan let the tears slip free, closed his eyelids, touched his fingertips lightly to Anakin's hand, and then allowed himself to find sleep.

 

 


End file.
